A Perfect Palette
by CreedsGalBirdy
Summary: XMFC - Blue, red, yellow. He'd never seen another of his kind, a mutant, so rich with color.  He wondered what magic those three colors could create, that perfect palette, mixing and swirling.
1. A Perfect Palette

A Perfect Palette

He could almost pinpoint the exact moment it started. Over the rush of waves against the shore or the rustle of the breeze through palms, his thoughts audibly clicked into place in his head, one by one, drowning out all other sound.

The horrified blonde girl at the government compound. The Shaw-but-not-Shaw that distracted him from a kill. She was there now. But not as he knew her before. Now she wore a skin so blue Azazel thought that the night sky had fallen and taken fleshy form. And what a blue! Deep and inky like midnight on the open ocean. The sunlight reflecting off of her textured skin twinkling the light like stars. God help him, that red hair and those golden eyes. He'd never seen another of his kind, a mutant, so rich with color. He wondered what magic those three colors could create, that perfect palette, mixing and swirling.

The one Emma had called Lehnsherr stood now, pontificating in the sand, extolling the virtues of mutantcy over that of humanity. True enough, Azazel admitted, that he would never be welcomed at the table of Man, nor did he ever wish to be. Unless….

He watched her limp toward the one who controlled metal but an unseen line drew her to the man on the ground. The pacifist. Would she stay and fight to live alongside those that would fear her beauty? He willed her up, to stand with Lehnsherr. Azazel had made his choice when Shaw's body had been dropped to the sand. Really, what choice did he have? He wasn't made for the human world. But for a fraction of time he had considered a change. A change that would have him following that indigo form wherever she might go. But the telepath kissed her hand and she stood. Had they been lovers? Something else, perhaps.

She took a place beside Lehnsherr as he glanced to Azazel and what remained of Shaw's own brotherhood of fighters. A knowing look between the three and they walked over to form their own line in the sand, as it were, taking hands with one another.

Azazel looked down the row and caught Lehnsherr's eye who gave a simple nod, but it was just beyond there that Azazel's attention was drawn. Individually and all together, he felt the group as he pulled them away from the beach, slowly at first then snapping like a slingshot, to someplace else. At the end, he felt her. In the heartbeat space of the in-between, Azazel saw her through the smoky, burning haze and smiled to himself. Silently he thrilled at the colors they would make.

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><p><em>AN: I had no intention of writing this but PragmaticHominid's fic "Devil" inspired me...just a bit. You should go read that. Then fave it. Put it on your alerts. And leave a review. It's freaking fantastic! BTW, if you liked <em>this_, a review wouldn't be such a bad thing. _


	2. Green

_AN: I've decided to continue with this series. The chapters will not be in any specific order, just as they come to me, but they will most likely ALL relate to a chapter/chapters of PragmaticHominid's "Devil" storyline. It's probably best if you read that first before continuing...unless you like aimlessly wandering through fiction. _

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><p>"Devil" Chapters 11 &amp; 12<p>

Green

Sick. Rolling and vile. That's how he felt at the sight of it. But not for the small mutant that had been lost. No. He felt these things for those that had done this to one of his own kind. How lucky he thought himself then, to have made it so far in life. Lucky to have been given the chance to live beyond infancy, for whatever the reason. Azazel tore away from the scene, before Emma'd had a chance to unveil the sad little child again. His need to rush away thrusting him with such force that when he reappeared in his room he had to steady himself against the wall.

In the dim light he stared out the window, across the dank city. Disgust and hatred nestled in his chest neatly with an ache that threatened to strangle him. He coughed, hoping to dislodge the crushing weight of it. The sound of his distress caught him off guard and he straightened. He stared hard at the world beyond the paned glass and a bitter flavor filled his mouth. The world that Shaw had dreamed of was there, just out of reach. It needed to be done. Was Lehnsherr the one who could make it happen?

Walled away inside his own thoughts, he didn't hear the door knob turn. But then she was there. And the increasing pressure behind his eyes all but gave him away as his spit his epitaph to Chicago, the world and all the humans that lived there. Her pull was strong, his blue siren, as he felt her lips press against his.

Salvation! He could not abide another moment of despair when this heaven was so close. He let her be the master in this thing, conceding the reins to an experience he was more unfamiliar with than he liked to admit, even to himself. When the end of it had come and before the start of it began again, he thought once more of the strength of their colors. Bewitching and tranquilizing to his lonely soul, he made a silent oath that he would only belong to her.


	3. White

"Devil" Chapter 6

White

He appeared in a glittering kingdom. The light was blinding, sparkling off of any surface it could reach. Gold and silver-plated debris littered the room, and at its center, a mistress in white. Captivated by her own image, she delayed acknowledging Azazel's sudden appearance. Instead, she continued pulling the brush through her champagne locks, the light crowning her with a mocking halo. Azazel stood, rigid with anger, not trusting his voice to relay his annoyance adequately. He did what he knew best. Be stoic. Be silent. Wait for the opportunity. Emma could play the game as well, Azazel knew. She didn't need to speak nor did she need to listen. If she wanted to know something she just took the information herself. Or, as Azazel had experienced, she gave you your thoughts.

Emma finished her grooming, smoothing her hair before turning to face her silent audience. She gave him _that_ look, the one that was supposed to convey innocence and virtue. Somehow she must have thought her persona of white automatically included the traits. Azazel knew better. Emma could be cruel and selfish, especially now as she began her honey refrain, sweetening the lies she had whispered into his mind. The girl is too young. The girl is too spoiled. The girl is too weak. _The girl doesn't belong here._ Her concerns were not ones he shared regarding his sapphire dream.

But Azazel let Emma prattle on as he felt her trying to coax his mind into believing what she was saying. Not this time. Not ever again. He closed his eyes against her torrent of words, slamming her out. She had enough graces to look put out when he opened his eyes to her. A sad, rueful face was his gift in return before she placed her hands on his chest. She told him he was being silly. That his attraction to the girl was fleeting; what did he know of love anyway?

Her wrists were delicately small with his hands encircling them. One last time she worked to convince him that this fairy-tale folly of his would end before it even started. Removing Emma's touch was more than just the physical act of separation. He would not let her wound him when the agonizingly jubilant beat in his chest told him otherwise. She was plaintive when she said she didn't want him to get hurt. There was a partial truth in her eyes, but it was not enough to dissuade him. Azazel had made his choice. He released Emma, stepped back and disappeared, leaving the queen to rule in her glittering kingdom alone.


	4. Red

"Devil" Chapter 9

Red

First, there were three. Then two. Then three again. Eight in all. Azazel smiled at that. Certainly, he had killed more men in one day than a simple eight. But tonight was not about killing only. He still had one last task to complete before he could rest. He had moved nearly all of the gold before he noticed it. So when he went back for the final trip, he tore a piece of clothing from one of his victims and bound the wound. A few more minutes longer would not matter.

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><p>When she sees him, she does not react as he thinks she should. There is a casual and indifferent mood about her tonight. Perhaps he can change that. She questions him about the gash. A stupid thing. But then, they all were. For half of them, he cannot exactly recall when or where they happened. A few come with memories. This one will have a memory. As he stitches, pulling the crimson flesh together, Azazel shares his glory of the night with Mystique. Yet her face twists into a shape he does not like. Her words are biting but she only speaks the truth as she knows it. He will not lose her to inaccuracies or assumptions.<p>

With great conviction he tells her his truth and for a moment he worries. He aches for her to understand. He cannot have her be so different from him. Not when they are so much the same. Under normal circumstances, Azazel is not so charitable with forgiveness. But tonight he relinquishes easily. For her only.

Ablutions are needed to wash away the acrid taste of adopted mistruths and misgivings and to prepare the inexperienced for reality. It is easy enough to convince her to join him. As the minutes grow into hours and spirits are raised and consumed, Azazel is certain that this creature of beauty was meant for him. He had never asked for it, yet it had found him out just the same as it had for any other before him. For as long as there had been hearts beating, there were reasons they should beat. And now, here was his reason. A wonderful and impish thought comes to him and he raises his glass; his proclamation is lost on its intended. Still, he smiles.

He guides her, warm and pliable, upstairs. It would be so easy now. With a word he could have her. With a word she would give herself. But this is not how he wants her. He wants to be drunk with her in other ways. Painfully, he brakes away and when he is sure she has found her way into her own room he lets his door quietly click shut.


	5. Brown

"Devil" Chapter 16

Brown

It was dark and rich and its depth threatened to swallow them whole if they stared for much longer. The lid of the coffin was closed and the haunting pull ceased. There was a faint light on elsewhere and it crept in to chase away any imagined ghouls that might be lingering in the surrounding darkness.

Silence stretched between them. Only the shifting of limbs against the plush carpet was heard. A long, black limb brushed his knee. Her scales played tricks with the faraway light, making her move without moving. She was a soft silhouette in the dark and Azazel let himself remember her softness. Her breast under his calloused hand. Her lips pressing against his scars. His hardness slipping into her soft warmth.

A motion, a whisper, a sigh. She had claimed him. Rightfully and wholly. It went beyond that they were so different from the rest and yet, it was because they were so different from the rest. She would know what he knew. The needs he had were needs she had. To hide, for now. To keep that secret of self lest it bring fear and hatred around them. At least until they could walk free. Erik's dream of freedom was not so close that Azazel could reach out and touch it. Not yet. It was only a thought, barely formed, with eager hands ready to shape and mold.

A surge, warm and suffocating, coursed through him. Freedom or not, he would curl his hand into hers. He would keep her close, show her how to stay safe. There were many things he wanted to share with her, to show her. He would not let a brown box be her hiding place.


End file.
